Episodes of a Pawnee Life
by periwinkled
Summary: A series of snippet fics describing Ben and Leslie's life together. The rest of the gang pops in from time to time, and there will maybe be some OCs running about.  Rated for later chapters, probably.
1. Mrs Wyatt

_Disclaimer: This is a story about characters who don't belong to me. Written after Episode 3x11._

"I must say I am disappointed in you, Mrs. Wyatt. I assumed that finally landing yourself a husband would take care of all of these ridiculous opinions you seem to have."

Leslie had been marching purposefully out of the building—she was late for a lunch date with said husband, after all—but the words stopped her in her tracks. She spun to face her criticism head-on, straightening her shoulders in a subconscious attempt to make herself seem taller.

"I'm sorry Marcia, but there are just a few things wrong with your last statement. Well, all of it is wrong, actually, but I'll make a list so you can more easily understand your mistakes."

Marcia opened her mouth to interject, but Leslie plowed on.

"My name is Leslie Knope. While I am married to a man whose last name is Wyatt, I have chosen not to take it. Married women keeping their maiden names, Marcia: it's really not that controversial anymore. There are two categories of people who are permitted to call me Mrs. Wyatt. The first is a short list of people who are easily confused but otherwise kind. It mainly consists of Ben's elderly relatives and Andy Dwyer. The second is my husband, but—" she paused to send her nemesis a smug, satisfied smile, "only on _very_ special occasions."

Marcia sputtered, and Leslie's grin grew.

"Do you understand me, Marcia? I don't know if you're acquainted with the subject at all. I'm talking about sex." Pleased with her parting shot, she turned once more to leave. After a few steps she stopped and turned again as something occurred to her. "Oh, and I didn't _land_ my husband. He landed _me_."

With a final nod, she headed out the door, fishing in her bag for her cell phone as she walked. She hoped Ben hadn't ordered yet. Suddenly she was in the mood for a nooner.

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><p><strong>AN: **This is the first in a series of snippet stories looking at Ben and Leslie's life together. There are no fixed chapter lengths; some will be tiny like this one, others will be longer. I will keep going until I stop, basically. The inspiration behind this one is that I really want Marcia to get her comeuppance.

**I am accepting prompts for later chapters-send me a message or leave me a review with an idea and I just might run with it! If I use a suggested idea, I will credit whoever provides it.**


	2. Compromise and Calzones

_Disclaimer: This is a story about characters who don't belong to me. Written after Episode 3x11._  
><strong>Quick note: It's not necessary to read my previous Parks and Rec fics to enjoy this, but I do tend to base them all on a sort of Ben and Leslie future canon that lives in my head. I would recommend reading "Breaking Up Is Hard To Do" for an explanation of why Ben is not working in City Hall.<strong>

* * *

><p>Ann let out an exasperated breath. "Ben, she's carrying a child, not a bomb."<p>

He shot her a dirty look, but continued escorting his pregnant wife down a set of stairs. They were in the stairwell of a parking garage, headed into the restaurant where their baby shower was being held.

"Ann, could you give us a moment, please?"

"Sure, I'll see you inside."

Leslie turned to her husband. He wouldn't quite meet her eyes. It reminded her in a sweet way of the early days of their friendship. She'd have smiled at him if he hadn't been driving her so completely insane.

"I love you."

"I love you, too. There's a 'but' here, isn't there?"

She nodded. "There is, and I'll get to it. First I want to know why all of a sudden you're treating me like I'm made of spun glass and not flesh, bone, and other boring human things."

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair and sighed. "I'm just worried about you, Les. You're so small to be carrying two."

"Okay, fair enough, but we've known about the babies for weeks now and you seemed perfectly fine. What happened to turn you into a worrybot in the last few days?"

It was difficult to tell in the dim light of the stairwell, but Leslie thought he'd blushed. "I, uh, I spoke to your mother?"

"Oh, Ben."

"I know it was a bad idea, but she cornered me! She was full of all these stories of how hard carrying you had been for her, and how I should watch you carefully, and then I realized that she didn't even _know_ about the twins thing because we haven't announced it yet _and_ she was something like ten years younger when she had you. I guess I just realized how much there is to worry about."

"Alright, here's the 'but.'"

"Okay."

"I love you _but, _Ben, I'm only four months pregnant." She laid her hands on her rounded belly, knowing she looked much further along because she was carrying two. "We are less than halfway through—even though these guys will probably come early—and if you are going to spend the next few months like this, I will probably either lose my mind or leave you."

A fleeting look of frustration crossed his face, indicating that he'd had this same conversation with himself already. "I know."

"We need to come to a truce. I have some ideas."

At that, he had to laugh. "Of course you do."

"First, if I need help with something, I will ask you." He shot her a look of disbelief, and she laughed. "I know. That's not a very me way of handling things, but that's why they call it compromise. It will be hard at first, but I get where you're coming from, so I will make a conscious effort to ask for help." He still didn't look convinced, so Leslie took one of his hands and laid it beneath hers on her stomach. "If you can't believe that I'll do it for you—though I will—believe that I'll do it for them. I don't want anything to happen to the babies, either."

"Leslie."

"Okay, your turn."

He left his hand under hers and rubbed gently while he considered. She didn't think he was even aware of the action, and it was so sweet that she leaned forward to rest her head against his chest.

"I've got it."

"Shoot."

"Let me ask someone to be my eyes and ears in City Hall."

"What do you mean?"

"I know that the calling has been irritating—"

"Yes, it has."

"And I'll never get anything done if I drop in to check on you as often as I'd like to. So let me ask someone to keep me updated on you."

"Like a spy?"

"Sure, I guess, only one you'll know about."

"Who?"

"I don't know yet, I just came up with this. Let me think about it and I'll tell you later. Okay?"

She sighed. It wasn't ideal, but neither was his habit of calling her every ten minutes. And she really was looking forward to him being around for the next forty to fifty years, so killing him wasn't ideal, either. "Fine. Do I at least get to approve your choice?"

He started to nod, then stopped. "No. No, this is my choice. You'll just have to deal with it."

She scowled. "Fine. Now let's go get some presents." He started to take her arm again, and she pierced him with a steely look. "Not an invalid, remember?"

He dropped his hands. "Right."

"But I would appreciate some help opening that door."

"On it."

The shower was a blast. Neither Ben nor Leslie wanted to know their babies' genders in advance (though they did know they were identical, so whichever sex they got there would be two of them), so Ann had gone with a bright, rainbow theme, which utterly delighted Leslie. Ben had a sinking feeling that the nursery would shortly be undergoing a Technicolor makeover.

Ron had built them a beautiful old-fashioned cradle that had tears welling in Leslie's eyes as soon as she saw it. Apparently worried about another outpouring of emotion from her, Ron pulled Ben aside after he and Leslie had announced that they were in fact expecting twins.

"I'll make you a second one."

"Ron, that's not necessary. You've given us an heirloom."

"Don't be stupid, son. I'll make you another one."

For some reason that could _not_ be blamed on pregnancy hormones, Ben felt himself getting misty-eyed. He blinked hard. "Thank you."

* * *

><p>On Monday, Andy presented himself in Leslie's office to "Check up on the little dudes or dudettes." On Tuesday, it was the same, and then again on Wednesday. He was so genial and, well, <em>Andy<em> about it that it took three days for Leslie to make the connection.

"Wait, _you're_ the spy?"

Andy's face fell, and Tom called gleefully to the rest of the office "She figured it out! Who had Wednesday?"

"Me," came Ron's voice.

"You had bets on this? Andy, _is_ it you?"

"Yeah. Ben told me not to bother you, so I was trying to be sneaky." His frown darkened. "Now he's going to think picking me was a mistake."

Leslie smiled. "No, he won't. It's not supposed to be a secret. And you've been doing a great job of not being a bother. A _great_ job."

Andy brightened. "Thanks, Leslie!"

"Make him give you foot rubs," April called from her desk, and Jerry and Donna both chimed in with testimonials to the greatness of Andy's foot rubs.

"That would be wonderful, if you don't mind."

"No way, anything for the little dudes!"

Ben's phone rang a little while later. He checked the time as he answered it. "It's only 2 o'clock. I'm not allowed to check in on you again for another half an hour."

"Good job, Mr. Wyatt."

Her choice of words was a very good sign, and he smiled into the phone. "On what?"

"Andy."

"Ahhh. Wow, that secret lasted longer than I thought it would."

"Yes, you did manage to choose the only person we know who's less sneaky than I am. Oh, but Ben. Ben, he gives _foot rubs_."

Ben laughed. "Yes, that was the deciding factor in his favor."

"Really?"

"No. How was I supposed to know he gives foot rubs?"

"Well, apparently you could have asked anyone in this office."

"What? You know, never mind. I don't want to know."

There was a beat of silence. "Ben?"

"Yes?"

"Could you maybe bring me something?"

"Sure. Wait. Oh, please tell me you're craving a calzone."

He could practically hear her scowl through the phone. "These babies have _terrible_ taste."

"Are you kidding me? In a few years, we'll be ganging up on you, three calzone lovers to one calzone hater. It's going to be the best day of my life."

"Just bring me the goddamn calzone."

He was still laughing when she hung up on him.

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><p><strong>AN: **This is one in a series of snippet stories looking at Ben and Leslie's life together. There are no fixed chapter lengths; some will be tiny, others will be longer. I will keep going until I stop, basically. These are in no particular order, so don't be surprised if I jump all over the place chronologically. Fun fact: the file name for this chapter was "calzonebabies."

**I am accepting prompts for later chapters-send me a message or leave me a review with an idea and I just might run with it! If I use a suggested idea, I will credit whoever provides it.**


	3. Supper With a Side of Sneak

_Disclaimer: This is a story about characters who don't belong to me. Written after Episode 3x11.  
><em>**Quick note: It's not necessary to read my previous Parks and Rec fics to enjoy this, but I do tend to base them all on a sort of Ben and Leslie future canon that lives in my head. I would recommend reading "Breaking Up Is Hard To Do" for an explanation of why Ben is not working in City Hall.**

* * *

><p>Ben Wyatt pulled his car up to the curb outside City Hall and waited while his wife walked up. As part of a "green" initiative, Chris had held a contest amongst government employees to lessen their carbon footprint. Leslie had won the contest in a landslide when she and Ben had decided to become a one-car household (the prize had been a gift certificate to Grain and Simple, which they had then used to buy the store out of vegan bacon to stuff in Ron's mailbox). Since then, they had done a lot of walking and carpooling, although in the case of an emergency Leslie could always borrow a Parks Department car.<p>

The backseat door swung open as Leslie dropped her briefcase inside before shutting it and hopping into the front. She turned to him with a sweet smile. "Hi, there."

He smiled back and leaned in for a kiss. "Hey."

Their greeting kisses were usually pretty tame, but Leslie lingered over this one, finally pulling away with a satisfied "Mmm."

Ben blinked and then looked down, surprised to find his hands still gripping the steering wheel and not his wife. "Wow. Good day?"

"Yes. Yes! Many things were accomplished."

"Like what?"

"Oh, lots of official stuff but the best part was when April tricked Chris into eating a bunch of M&Ms."

Ben chuckled. "How'd she manage that?"

"I have no idea, but it was _awesome._ Oh, and we got the okay from the Zoning Committee for the amphitheatre!"

"Really? That's great!"

"I know! Can we go celebrate? How about we go out to dinner to celebrate?"

He shook his head. "No."

She sat up, hands flying. "What? Why?"

"You know why."

The indignant act, which Ben had recognized for what it was, melted into a sulk. "You suck."

"Hey, you agreed to this! You issued me a challenge, I accepted it, and it's happening _tonight_."

She cast him a sly glance. "Ann has tried and failed at this many times, you know. I don't know why you think _you're_ going to succeed."

He tightened his jaw and said nothing.

Sensing a victory, Leslie pushed. "Come on babe, let's just go to J.J.'s. Pretty please?"

"No."

"Damn it, Ben!"

Silence reigned through the rest of the drive to their home. Leslie, in full dudgeon, stomped up the front stairs, and disappeared in the house.

He walked into the entry and, using her heavy footsteps to locate her, shouted after her. "Good god woman, I'm not planning on poisoning you!" The sound of a slammed door was her only response.

Their evening routine continued as usual, aside from the icy silence that gradually melted. She changed into sweats and switched on CNN. He ditched his jacket and tie, rolled up his sleeves, and started dinner, waiting until she left the room before turning the TV off. It came back on as soon as she walked back in.

Leslie set the table, singing along to an advertisement jingle as she did so. It was a little song that she couldn't seem to help singing along to, and one that Ben frequently teased her about. As she sang in the dining room, he echoed her in an exaggerated high-pitched voice from the kitchen, then grinned to himself when he heard her stifle a laugh.

She'd straightened her face again when she came to stand in the kitchen doorway, and he copied her expression. "Can I help you?"

"What do we need?"

"Well, that's kind of a broad question."

"Utensils. Which kind?"

"Ah. Just forks. No, take that back—we'll need steak knives, too."

"Fine."

He waited until she crossed the kitchen twice and was heading back out before he spoke again. "And wine glasses." She gave an exaggerated sigh, and he called "Please!" after her.

She came back in for the glasses, scowling when she realized that she'd need a stepstool to reach them. They didn't drink wine all that often.

"I'll get 'em, honey." Ben walked up and stood so that she was trapped between his body and the counter, then reached above her head to snag two of the glasses. While holding them aloft, he leaned his head down to nuzzle against her temple.

Leslie started to lean into him, and then straightened, seeming to recall why she was angry. "Just give me the damn things," she ground out.

He pressed his nose further down the side of her face, pausing at her right ear. He murmured "Sure," nipped her earlobe, and then handed her the glasses and stepped back in one move, before she could react.

He heard her swift intake of air, but she said nothing. He returned to the area of the counter where he was prepping their meal and watched out of the corner of his eye as she stopped to choose a bottle of wine. He was feeling pretty good about his position in their dinner battle, which proved a distraction. Apparently having grasped both glasses in one hand and tucked the bottle under her arm, she used her free hand to smack him firmly on the ass as she walked out of the kitchen.

"Hey!" Startled, he slammed forward into the counter and dropped his knife. "You don't play fair!"

"Ha!" Her laughter was a single, loud bark. She stuck her head back in the door. "That's rich, _honey_."

He waited until she'd ducked back out before he let himself smile. He'd discovered that the best way to deal with a sulking Leslie was to switch her out for an angry Leslie. It could be a tricky process, but he'd gotten pretty damn good at it. Steak cooked and sliced, he shifted their dinner into place and went out to see if he was also good enough to convince his salad-hating wife that there were some green dishes actually worth eating.

* * *

><p>A little while later, he awaited her pronouncement. He'd fixed a steak and watercress salad, with bleu cheese, candied pecans, and a creamy balsamic vinaigrette. He was hoping that the combination of tastes, including the heavier flank steak and sugared nuts would fool her taste buds into forgetting they were consuming something which was—at least to Leslie's mind—too healthy to be considered tasty.<p>

She'd cleared most of her plate, which was a good sign, but hadn't said a word aside from requesting more pecans. He sipped his wine and considered her, finally deciding to break the silence. After a while, a silent Leslie was just too weird. "Well?"

"Well?"

He quirked an eyebrow and gestured at her plate with his glass.

She appeared to wage some sort of internal battle with herself, but it was over quickly and Silent Leslie was gone once again. "Using candy seems like cheating."

He laughed. "It's not cheating!"

"And meat! _Red_ meat! Who puts that on a salad?"

"Lots and lots of people."

"_Really?_"

"Yep. There is a whole universe of interesting and tasty salads out there, just waiting for you to discover them."

"Well, let's not rush into anything."

"Right, of course."

Leslie stood, and Ben started to move his chair back to join in the clean up effort, but she plopped down into his lap before he could stand.

She settled in, tucking her legs up and draping her arms around his shoulders. He laid one hand on her thigh and rubbed the other up and down her back. "Well, hey there."

"Hi." She leaned in and pressed a little kiss to the tip of his nose. "I love you."

"Love you, too."

"Even though you cheat at salads."

"It's not technically cheating—"

"But it is sneaky."

"Maybe."

"Well," she snuggled further into him, "I was pretty sneaky myself, this evening."

"You did get me pretty well," he grudgingly admitted.

She leaned in to press her lips to his ear and whispered "That wasn't actually what I was talking about."

"Hmm?" He cast her a quizzical look, and then pulled back a little to look around them.

She shook her head. "Nothing out there."

"Out there…?" He focused on her person instead. She was wearing her basic around-the-house uniform of sweats and pigtails. Studying her with the eye of a man who knew his wife's form very well, he reached for the zipper on her hoodie.

She kept her eyes glued to his, which, in his experience, was a very good sign that he was on the right track. Sure enough, the hoodie fell open to reveal a piece of what Leslie liked to refer to as her trousseau—a collection of pretty, lacy things that she and Ann had amassed before their wedding. She was wearing a dark fuchsia bra, cut in a deep V and edged thickly with lace. His fingers lightly traced the edge of the lace where it met her skin, and her breast rose sharply as she pulled in a breath and shivered. He racked his brain for a few coherent honeymoon memories and managed to recall that it was part of a set. Jesus.

"But you…you've had this on all night. Since we got home."

She nodded.

"So you weren't actually mad at me?"

She reached up to slip his top shirt button through its hole, and then dragged her fingers down to play with the next one. "Well," she considered, "not as mad as you thought."

He brought his other hand up to push the hoodie the rest of the way off, and she shrugged her shoulders helpfully before going back to work on his buttons. "You got me."

She grinned delightedly. "I did?"

He nodded, and shifted his weight so she could pull his shirttails loose from his pants. "I admit it, you're getting sneakier."

She shoved his shirt off of his shoulders and down onto his upper arms, effectively stilling his movement momentarily. She leaned in and ran the tip of her tongue along the shell of his ear, echoing his earlier action. "That's sweet of you, Honey, but to be honest I don't think I have." She pulled back as he frantically fought his shirt the rest of the way down his arms. "I think I'm just getting better at manipulating you."

Shirt finally gone, Leslie hopped off of Ben's lap so he could stand. He ripped his undershirt over his head, tossed it away, and then grabbed his wife's hand to tug her towards the stairs.

Leslie was very willing to be taken along for the ride. "You don't mind, then? The manipulation?"

He flashed her a look over his shoulder. His eyes were, well, _hot_. "Hell, no."

* * *

><p>AN: This, uh, was sort of an accident. It was just supposed to be a story about Ben and Leslie arguing about salad, but then it devolved into sexy time without so much as a "by-your-leave" to me. Gosh darn newlyweds only have one thing on their minds, and it totally isn't salad.

The salad recipe is cobbled together from many amazing salads I have eaten in my life. Yum.

Filename for this one: "sneakysalad."


	4. Hillary and Madeleine

_Disclaimer: This is a story about characters who don't belong to me. Written after Episode 3x11_

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><p>"So here's my idea: Hillary and Madeleine."<p>

"No."

"Why not?"

"We are absolutely not naming them after Hillary Clinton and Madeleine Albright."

"This is because I nixed 'Luke,' isn't it?"

"I told you, Luke is a _family name_—"

"Yeah, right."

"Okay. Maybe—_maybe—_one or the other. But not both. Don't do that to our daughters."

"Fine. Then I pick…Madeleine. We could call her 'Maddie' or 'Laney.'"

"Or 'Madeleine.'"

"You have no imagination."

"What about family names? Your middle name is Barbara—"

"Ick."

"Alrighty then."

"What about Annabeth?"

"One word or two?"

"Either, I don't care."

"I like it, actually. The single word version, that is. Spelling it with two just feels a little too Jim-Bob to me."

"You better not be talking smack about _The Waltons_."

"I would never do that."

"Well. Good."

"So are we decided on names, then? Evan and Nicholas for boys and Madeleine and Annabeth for girls?"

"Yes, we are. Those are some damn good ones, too. Now on to the middle names."

"Oh, Jesus, we need four more, don't we?"

"We don't have to do it now. We have another month or two."

"Great. Okay, well, I've got another call. I'll pick you up at 6?"

"Sounds good!"

"Okay. I love you."

"I love you, too."

Leslie laid the phone back on its cradle and patted her belly with affection. Ann spoke up from the doorway, where she'd been standing holding their lunch for the last five minutes.

"Are you ever going to tell him that 'Annabeth' was inspired by the lady in the boxing mural?"

"Absolutely not."

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><p><strong>AN: **Itty-bitty conversation chapter. I wanted to get the naming out of the way because I HATE naming OCs. If you need a refresher on the City Hall boxing mural (originally called "A Lively Fisting), it's in an album of murals on the official Parks and Rec website.


	5. Not According to Plan

_Disclaimer: This is a story about characters who don't belong to me. Written after Episode 3x12. Takes place a few weeks after "Breaking Up Is Hard To Do."_

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><p>"Huh."<p>

"What?" Ann looked up from her salad to find Leslie studying her cell phone with a perplexed look on her face. "You know you need to dial it, right? It doesn't respond to vague spoken commands."

"Ha-ha." Leslie spoke without looking up from her phone.

Ann speared a cherry tomato with her fork. "Dude, what is it? You've been checking that thing every two minutes."

Leslie sighed and placed the phone on her desk with a quiet _click_. "It's nothing. Probably. I just haven't heard from Ben today and it's weird."

Ann considered as she chewed her tomato. "Weren't you with him, like, the entire weekend?"

Ben was in the process of moving into his new office, and the weekend had been spent getting the space client-ready. "I only pitched in on Saturday. I had that beer thing at the zoo on Sunday. Andy was there to help him, though."

"Could he be in a meeting?"

Leslie shook her head and shoved her salad away in disgust. "He's not officially open for business until next week. He still has to get the phone and internet hooked up."

"So when did you last talk to him?"

"Last night, sort of." Ann sent her a raised eyebrow and Leslie shrugged. "He texted me."

"Hey, doesn't he live with April and Andy? Why don't you ask one of them if they know what he's up to today?"

"I thought about it, but…it just feels so high school. Like asking them to pass him a note in class. I mean, we're adults, aren't we?"

In response, Ann turned in her chair and called out the office door, "Hey April, what's going on with Ben today?"

Without looking up from her computer screen, April shrugged. "I dunno. He's like, dying, or something."

Ann blinked at her. "What—" but Leslie was out the door.

She slid to a stop next to the shoeshine stand. "Andy, what's the matter with Ben?"

Andy spun on his stool and dropped the brush he was holding. "Oh, shoot! I forgot we were supposed to tell you that Ben is sick but not super sick. The second part is a lie so you wouldn't worry. He really is super sick. This morning he called me 'Chewie.' Crazy, right?"

Leslie had already turned, determined to see if Ann knew where the hospital kept the ambulances, but she paused to consider Andy's last statement. "No, I can see it."

* * *

><p>Leslie briefed Ann on the situation as they hurried to their cars. Ann unfortunately had to go back to work and had flatly refused to help her friend steal an ambulance, but had agreed to remain on call, as it were.<p>

"Apparently he just didn't get up this morning. April said she heard his alarm go off over and over, so he was just sleeping through it. Andy went in to check on him and said he looked 'kinda gross,' he wasn't hungry, and he sounded drunk."

They'd arrived at Leslie's car. "You might be blowing this all out of proportion, you know," Ann said as she watched Leslie unceremoniously toss her things into the back seat.

"I know, but better safe, right?" She climbed in the car, started it, and then lowered her window. "Andy said he kept referring to him as 'Chewie.'"

Ann's face lit up. "Oh my God, I can totally see it!"

"_I know!"_

* * *

><p>"Ben?" Leslie eased the front door open and looked around. The house was silent. She'd knocked a few times, and then used the key that Andy had given her. She was hoping that the silence meant that Ben was sleeping and not, say, dead. She dropped the bags she was carrying near the door and headed towards the bedrooms. She was going to have to look around until she found him, as she wasn't really sure which room was his.<p>

A few minutes later, Leslie had found Ben's bedroom (it was sparely decorated, with a framed vintage _Empire Strikes Back_ poster hanging on one wall and a bed made up with plaid sheets—which would have been adorable except that it looked like it had been hit by a hurricane), but no Ben. Puzzled, she peeked out a window for his car (it was outside), and then wandered back towards the rest of the house.

As she was scanning the main living area for signs of life, Leslie suddenly realized that she wasn't alone in the room. Ben was sitting on the couch, utterly still and silent, wearing nothing but boxer shorts and staring vacantly at the dark television set.

"Whoa!" Startled, she stumbled back a step.

At her shout, Ben turned his head and blinked at her blearily. Apparently recognizing her, he smiled sweetly. "Hi, sweetie. I think I'll be a robot for Halloween this year."

Leslie approached him cautiously. Andy was right. He _did_ seem drunk. But from the flushed, sweaty look of him, she thought the drunkenness was probably delirium. Still, he'd never called her "sweetie" before.

"Hi, there. What are you doing out here, Ben?"

"Huh?" More blinking. "Oh, I was just watching—" he turned to the TV, then seemed to realize it was off, "—huh."

"Okay." She'd reached his side, and laid a hand on his cheek. As she'd suspected, it was burning up. "How are you feeling?"

He considered that for a moment. "Spinny."

"Spinny, huh? I think maybe we should get you horizontal."

She helped him to his feet and they began a halting progress back to his room. "I'm cold."

"Yeah, I bet you are." Leslie was trying very hard to focus on his fever and not his lack of clothes. It was shamefully difficult.

Suddenly, Ben ground to a halt. "Wait, wait, wait." He squinted down at her. "Leslie Knope, are you trying to get me into bed?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm doing."

"Oh." His face split into a wide, happy grin. "Okay with me."

Once Ben was safely covered in blankets, Leslie called Ann. "I took his temperature. It's hovering right around 100 degrees. But he's really, really loopy. Don't you have to be really, seriously feverish for this kind of delirium?"

"Not necessarily. We don't know what his core temp usually is. Not everyone hovers at 98.6 degrees. Give him Tylenol and fluids and keep monitoring it. If it gets any higher, call me back and we'll see about getting him to the hospital."

"What about food? He hasn't eaten anything since last night."

"Fluids first. If he keeps everything down without any trouble, then you can give him food. Mild stuff, though."

"Alright, Nurse Ann. Just call me Doctor Leslie."

"I—sure. Why not? Good luck."

* * *

><p>Leslie spent the rest of the afternoon and into the evening pouring juice into Ben and helping him as he alternated between being too cold and unbearably hot. He also alternated between being aware of how ill he was and being completely out of it. In his lucid moments, he was mortified.<p>

She came into the room carrying a tray. He was apparently cold again, as he'd pulled on a hooded sweatshirt and was burrowed under the covers. She placed the tray on his bedside table and, because the room lacked any other seating, perched on the edge of the bed. She was fighting with the lid of a bottle of Tylenol when Ben spoke up from his blanket cave. "This wasn't exactly what I had in mind in terms of getting you into bed."

Leslie grinned. "Oh, don't worry, you'll make it up to me."

He reached out a hand to take the pills and juice that she offered. "You don't have to stay, you know."

"Yeah, I think I do."

"My fever is down and I'm feeling better. I am," he insisted when she gave him a jaundiced look.

"Ben, not ten minutes ago you were begging me to contact Obi-wan Kenobi."

He shrunk back into his cave. "Oh, God."

"Do you always hallucinate about _Star Wars_ when you're sick?"

"I…don't know. Why, what else have I said?"

"Well, you called Andy 'Chewie.'"

"That's not actually too far off the mark."

She smiled at him. "I know! I'm totally using it."

He reached up and pushed his hood back.

Leslie automatically put a hand to his forehead. "Are you feeling warm again?" She was unable to discern anything useful about his temperature from the touch. His hair was a mess, falling forward over his eyes, and since her hand was already there, she used it to push the locks back. "Are you hungry? I made soup."

She was basically petting him, and part of Ben wanted to protest the indignity of that, but the larger part voted he enjoy it. So he closed his eyes and did just that. "You made soup? What kind?"

"Chicken noodle."

"Mmmm." He tried to inhale past his congestion and caught a thin, familiar whiff. "Wait." He opened his eyes and reached up to take her hand, effectively stilling it. "Is that…my soup?"

"Well. In theory it is. It might not taste as good, because I don't, you know, cook, but it's the same recipe."

He was still holding her hand, which she wasn't sure he was even aware of, and he'd lowered it a little and was absent-mindedly rubbing his stubble against the backs of her fingers. It wasn't an unpleasant sensation. His mind was still on the soup. "How did you…"

Leslie blushed prettily. "I called your mom. She says hi. And feel better. And, um, 'Benjamin Andrew Wyatt, you had better have a good reason for not calling in a week—and don't you say it's because you're sick, that's no excuse.'"

He froze momentarily, a panicked look on his face. "Shoot."

"I told her that you'd been busy setting up your new office, which is apparently not a good enough excuse, either." She shrugged. "Sorry, Benjy, I tried."

"Hm." He'd resumed the gentle rubbing of her hand against his cheek. "I'm surprised she gave you the recipe. She's pretty protective of it. I had to practically take an oath to Do No Ill to convince her to give it to me."

"Really? All I had to do was tell her who I was. She, ah, knew a lot about me already."

His eyes were going glassy again. "Yeah, that makes sense."

She shouldn't ask, not when it would basically be taking advantage of his weakened state, but she couldn't seem to help herself. "Why does it make sense?"

He gave her a surprised look; as if he thought it was something she should already know the answer to. "I told her you're the woman I'm gonna marry."

Leslie was suddenly feeling a little delirious herself. "Really?"

He shot her another _duh_ look. "Well, yeah."

"Oh. Um." She withdrew her hand from where he still held it against his cheek and cast around the room for a distraction. "Do you want soup?"

"No." He sat up and tore the sweatshirt off, tossing it to the side. The action left him shirtless once again, and if tradition held he'd soon be kicking the sheets off of his legs. All afternoon, Leslie had been shamelessly sneaking glimpses of him, but all of a sudden she felt unaccountably shy.

She snatched up the tray. "I'll just put this in the fridge for later then," she called as she fled the room.

* * *

><p>Ben came awake without any clear knowledge of what had woken him. It appeared to be night, but the bedside lamp was on, which was odd. He had trouble falling asleep unless it was pitch black. His attire was also troubling. He seemed to be half-wearing a sweatshirt—it was hooked over his neck and one arm, as if he'd tried to get it off in his sleep and failed. He was also wearing underwear, which was reassuring, especially when he looked to his right and discovered Leslie curled up asleep in an armchair she'd apparently dragged in from the living room.<p>

He tried to remember the hours leading up to this odd moment, but discovered that most of it was fuzzy with a few snippets of lucidity. Studying Leslie, he desperately hoped there was nothing to be ashamed of in those lost fuzzy hours.

Taking stock, Ben realized that he was wide-awake and ravenously hungry. According to his phone, it was 3 AM, which meant that he hadn't had anything to eat in over a day. He quietly pushed back the covers, determined not to wake Leslie. He groped in a drawer for a pair of sweats and tiptoed out the door.

In the kitchen, he found a Tupperware container with familiar contents, a discovery that brought with it a clearer memory of at least one of the day's mortifying events. He transferred the soup to a pot and warmed it on the stove. She had called his mother. His mother had of course been thrilled to speak with Leslie, based on something he had told her while feeling lovesick, vulnerable, and probably a little bit drunk. But honest, for all that those things were true, as he himself had deliriously confirmed. Leslie was the woman he wanted to marry. "Well, I guess those cards are on the table," he muttered to himself.

He tasted the soup. It…wasn't terrible. In fact, and he was relatively certain that this wasn't solely due to the fact that he was hungrier than he could remember ever being before, it was pretty good. Couldn't hold a candle to his grandmother's, but nobody's could. He ate two-thirds of the contents of the pot.

A little later, Ben was full, showered, and had put fresh sheets on the bed. He had stopped trying to be quiet when he realized that he would probably have to drop a bomb at Leslie's feet in order to wake her up. She'd made an effort to get comfortable, he saw, and was wearing a pair of his jogging shorts—which were practically pants on her—and one of his collection of small-town Indiana tacky tourist t-shirts. Her hair was pulled into pigtails—the hair bands were black, and he thought she must have stolen them from April. His copy of Malcolm Gladwell's newest book lay forgotten on her lap. He moved it back to his bedside table and then worked his hands underneath her. She was deadweight in his arms, and didn't stir at all as he moved her the short distance from armchair to bed.

She nuzzled the pillow a little, but otherwise showed no awareness that she'd been moved. He settled in next to her and switched off the light. He still wasn't tired, but found he was perfectly content to lie awake in his bed savoring the knowledge that Leslie was asleep next to him.

* * *

><p>Leslie woke with startling suddenness. Ben had been sort of drifting, half-asleep, when his alarm went off and moments later she sat straight up in bed.<p>

"Wha…where…" she looked down at herself, and then around the room. "Huh?"

"You fell asleep here," Ben informed her.

"Whoa!" She jumped away from him in surprise, nearly toppling off the bed.

"Hey," He reached out and laid a hand on her wrist to catch her. "Careful."

She didn't move any closer, but stopped her forward motion away from him. All of a sudden, she seemed to remember where she was and why. "Oh." She scooted closer and laid the backs of her fingers against the side of his face. "Your fever broke?"

He closed his eyes briefly. "Sometime last night, I think. Do you remember April and Andy coming home?"

She thought about that. "Vaguely. What time is it?"

"Just after seven. You probably got about nine or ten hours of sleep."

"Whoa, really? That's…insane."

"I'm guessing you needed it."

"Maybe. I need to get home and shower." She didn't move and was still looking around in confusion.

"Hey." She turned to look at him. He had propped himself up on one elbow and was holding his other hand out to her. "C'mere."

"Okay." She scooted back into the bed and curled into his warmth. "Are you really feeling better?"

He pressed his face into her hair and she felt him nod. "I am. Thank you for staying. Waking up and finding you here was kind of amazing."

She smiled, even though she knew he couldn't see it. "You kept saying this wasn't how you'd planned to get me into bed."

He chuckled, and she could hear it echoing in his chest where her ear was pressed to it. He tightened his arm around her shoulders. "Maybe not. But you'll notice I'm not complaining now."

"Mmm."

"I can't believe you made my grandmother's chicken soup. How did you even do it? I didn't have the ingredients here, did I?"

"Ann brought them by after work. She took a look at you, too. Don't you remember?"

"No. No, I don't. I didn't embarrass myself horribly in front of her too, did I?"

"She said that Chris was much worse when he had the flu."

"Oh. Good." He cleared his throat. "Leslie, the stuff I said and did while I was sick…"

"You were cute," she assured him. "Besides, you'll make it up to me."

He smiled down at the top of her head. "I know you need to get to work, but do you want to go get breakfast at J.J.'s first?"

She pulled back to smile up at him. "That's a good start." He had been resisting the urge because he knew his breath was probably bad and early morning kisses weren't all that romantic, no matter what books and movies said, but his determination crumbled at the sight of that little smile. He leaned in and kissed her softly. She gave a little hum of approval as he pulled back. "Keep doing stuff like that and you'll be fine."

"Still want waffles?" He asked, and even to his ears his voice sounded like he'd swallowed gravel.

Her eyes flashed, there was no other word for it, and she opened her mouth to respond—just as her stomach roared. The moment broken, they both laughed. "I guess that answers that."

He reached out and caught one of her curls between two fingers before she could pull away. "To be continued?"

"Oh, yes."

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: Sorry this has taken a little longer than usual. I researched, started, and then abandoned three chapters before I hit my stride on this one, which came about because I wanted to create a situation in which Ben reached a hand out to a befuddled Leslie and said "C'mere." While they were in bed. Yup.

File name for this story: "Chewie."


	6. Madeleine andor Annabeth

_Disclaimer: This is a story about characters who don't belong to me._

"What if we get them confused?"

"What?"

Leslie was burrowed under the covers, tired and sore and thrilled to be back in her own bed. She needed to hoard these next few hours of sleep, and a nervously pacing husband was not helping her reach that goal.

"We planned for everything, right? _But what if we can't tell them apart?"_

Leslie groaned into her pillow. There would be no sleep unless she humored him in this. "We have color-coordinated onesies, socks, hair bands, hats, you name it. Madeleine is green, Annabeth is blue."

"It's more a purple than a blue—"

"Fine! Purple! Whatever! Ben." Leslie sat up in bed wearing her best glare. "The day before yesterday, I gave birth to _two human beings_. You need to let me sleep now."

"Oh." He was instantly contrite. "I'm sorry, Les. Go to sleep. I'll go panic in the other room."

She rolled her eyes. "Ugh. Get over here." When he was close enough, she tugged him into bed with her. "Take off your shoes. We are going to sleep, right now, because in a few hours we are going to have two hungry, screaming infants."

"Right. Yeah, that's probably the better idea."

* * *

><p>For a while, it seemed like Ben's fears would remain unfounded panic. Which didn't stop him from worrying.<p>

"I wish one of them had a birthmark. That would make things so much easier," he said one day a few months after they'd brought them home. He and Leslie were in the nursery, he trying to get Madeleine to burp while Leslie fed Annabeth.

"We're not going to get them confused. Besides, I can tell them apart. Maddie's such a smiley girl, aren't you, sweetheart?" Leslie cooed at the baby in her arms, who giggled in response.

"Leslie, that's Anna."

"What?" She looked up, startled, and then back down at her daughter's little blue socks. "So she is. Hi, Annabeth!" She turned back to Ben. "So both of our girls are smiley. That's good, right?"

"Well, yes, just not for our purposes." Just then, Madeleine let out a satisfying belch, and Ben lowered her from his shoulder to grin at her. "That's my girl!"

"Ben, our purpose is to raise two happy, healthy children. We are _not_ going to get them confused."

* * *

><p>Of course they got them confused.<p>

Though, Ben would later maintain, it was completely not their fault.

Ann had come over to give the new parents a break. Like any parents of infants worth their salt, Ben and Leslie had immediately gone to take a nap. Leslie possessed the impressive ability to fall asleep the instant her head hit the pillow. Ben was a lighter sleeper. He drifted for a little while, but never really dropped off. After exactly twenty minutes, Leslie stirred next to him in bed.

He smiled at her. "Hey there."

"Hi."

"So I don't think we've ruined their lives yet, do you?"

"Naw. But we've got lots more time to do that. Don't worry."

"I just don't want you to feel that you're failing. I know how you hate that."

"Aw, that's so sweet of you, honey." She scooted over to lay her lips on his and smiled partway through the kiss. "We're going to be good parents."

"The best."

"We _are_ good parents."

He chuckled. "The best."

"Alright, let's go get those babies." She stood up, straightened her clothes, and headed for the door.

"Good talk, Knope."

"Back atcha, Wyatt."

They found Ann in the kitchen. She'd gotten out the little bathtub and fitted it into the sink. She smiled at them as they walked in. "Hey, guys! I know you were planning on doing bath time later, but I figured since I was here and I've got experience with it..." She trailed off at the looks on her friends' faces. "What?"

"Ben, don't panic."

Ann looked down at the two infants, one swaddled in a towel, the other splashing in the tub. "Shoot."

"Oh, God." Ben started to back away; as if his two naked babies were a wild creature he could run from.

Ann looked from the babies to the two little stacks of clothes—one green, one lavender. "Well, let's see, I started with Annabeth—no. No, I started with Madeleine, because her clothes are further away.

"Are you sure?" Ben demanded.

"Relatively."

"Oh, God."

"Okay." Leslie stepped in. "Okay, I'm going to take Baby Number 1" she lifted up the swaddled infant "and Ann will finish with Baby Number 2. We'll get them dressed, and then we'll think of something."

* * *

><p>"Well, Tom will be pleased you used the Snake Hole t-shirts he gave you."<p>

The two little garments were the only things the girls had which were neither green nor blue.

They were sitting in the living room brainstorming. Ben gazed down at the baby in his arms, terrified that he would go the rest of his life uncertain which daughter this truly was.

"Come on guys, _think_," Ann urged them. "You've spent every waking hour with them for months. There have to be _some_ things they do differently."

Ben wracked his brain. One of them slept like Leslie did, dropping off like a rock, while the other fussed and gabbed for a while before falling asleep. But which one was which?

"Wait. Wait. Yes!" Leslie eyes lit up in triumph. "We need to call Andy."

"What—" Ann started to ask, but Ben cut in.

"Yes! We call Andy! Leslie, you are a genius!"

Twenty minutes later, Andy was at the door, cheerful but curious. "Hey guys! He little dudettes! What's going on?"

"Andy, you need to smile at the girls!" Leslie announced.

"Sure! But why?"

"No questions; just do it." Ben dragged Andy over to the two carriers.

He still looked confused, but obligingly, Andy smiled.

Ben shook his head. "No no no, you need to make the face, remember?"

Suddenly, Ann clued in. "Ooooooh, _right_."

The first time Leslie and Ben had brought the girls to City Hall, Andy had amused himself making faces at them. For the most part, the babies responded as babies do—waving arms, some giggles. Nothing earth shattering. However, there was one face that Andy made and for some reason it made Madeleine laugh uproariously. Andy loved her response, so he kept making the face, over and over, and Maddie laughed at it, over and over. It attracted a crowd, at which point someone pointed out that every time Madeleine laughed at the expression, Annabeth's reaction was completely different.

"Oh!" Andy exclaimed, and turned back to the babies to deliver. The baby on the right broke into hysterical laughter.

"Madeleine!" Leslie cried, and swooped in to pick up her daughter. Ann handed her a green hat and a little pair of green socks.

The baby on the left immediately scrunched her face up. She didn't cry, but she glowered at Andy angrily until he stopped making the offending expression.

Ben laughed and bent to lift her. "Hello, Annabeth. You know, she only makes that face at you," he informed Andy as Ann handed over the corresponding blue garments.

"Really? Awesome," Andy laughed. "Wait. Did you guys forget which baby was which?"

"What? No, that's ridiculous."

"No, of course not! What kind of parents do you think we are—"

Both Ben and Leslie exclaimed at the same time. Ann chimed in. "It was completely my fault."

"Oh. But…" Andy continued to look confused. "Why didn't you just look at their footprints, like they did on that one episode of _Full House_?"

Both parents froze. "Wow, that would have made a lot of sense, actually," Ben said.

"Whatever, this worked just as well. We're going to have to keep you on speed-dial, Andy," Leslie said, "If you don't mind."

"Naw, I love the dudettes." He turned to the baby nearest to him and stuck his tongue out. The baby started to wail. "Oh, that one's Annabeth."

"Yeah, thanks, dude." Ben carried the crying child out of the room.

* * *

><p>"And that's the story of how Andy came to be your nanny. Well, the beginning of the story, anyway." Ben looked at his kids. All three were staring at him wide-eyed.<p>

Madeleine was the first to break, dissolving into laughter. "Of course it is."

"You hired him based on his ability to make a baby angry?" Lucas looked like he didn't want to believe him.

"That's the beginning of the story, Luke. Lots of other things happened between then and now."

Annabeth still hadn't said anything.

"You okay, Anna-banana?" Ben asked.

"Um." She blinked at him. "Are you absolutely sure you got it right? Are you, you know, positive that I'm Annabeth and Maddie is Maddie?"

Ben smiled at his daughter, who of his children was the most like him. Of course the thing that would concern her in the story would be the same thing that had concerned him while he was living it. "Oh, Annabeth. Nobody in the world hated that stupid face of Andy's as much as you did. Trust me, you're you."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Does anyone else remember that episode of Full House? Because for some reason it is indelibly inked in my mind. The title of the story is obviously brazenly stolen from it.

I could write volumes about the fictional Knope-Wyatt offspring. I kind of have; actually, counting the notes I've made for future reference. And if this is the sort of thing that interests you, their names are Madeleine Ann Wyatt, Annabeth Knope Wyatt, and Lucas Andrew Wyatt (I told you that Ben would get his Luke, you worrywarts).

Filename: "angryface." (Annabeth inherited her mother's angry face, btw.)


End file.
